Destiel Rant. SORRY
Okay, but…think about this.
Dean reminising about his life. Dean thinking back on his childhood on the road, raised as the good little soldier to an abusive father, being taught that he was only good as a tool, a shield and spear, ‘Protect Sammy’ 'Kill demons’ 'Do your duty’, being taught that he was unworthy of love, unworthy of happiness. Then thinks of selling his soul and enduring hellfire, until Castiel saved him; fighting Michael and Lucifer, side by side with his brother and Castiel; Being betrayed by Castiel, then watching him die because of the Leviathans; going through Purgatory with Benny, searching for Castiel, praying for the first time in his life for the angel; Being forced to turn Castiel away to save his brother, hating the sad, puppy-eyes he was given, hating how he had to force a newly human Castiel into the wild, hating that he was being forced to chose between this broken soldier he’d come to care for and his brother; Putting himself in jeapordy for the Mark of Cain and the chance to stop Abaddon, leaning heavily on Sam and Castiel; being faced with the true horror of slowly turning into Cain, of slowing turning into the being he hates most, the horror of possibly hurting or killing Sam, or even worse, Castiel, coming to terms with the reality that the people he depended on most, that he lov - Holy shit. He loves Cas. Not like a brother, like Sam. He would die for Sam, kill for him, but it was nothing for what he’d do, what he’d already done, for Castiel. Holy hell. He loved this dorky, courageous, lost, naive, caring, broken soldier of heaven. He loved an ANGEL for fuck’s sake.
Imagine the shock of this epiphany, the initial denial - denying that he was gay, maybe, denying that he loved his friend, denying that he COULD love, the intial despair - Not believing for a second that Castiel could love him back, not believing he was capable, that he was worthy, of being loved. It wouldn’t matter that Castiel had faced hell for him, faced his brothers for him, denied his superiors for him, fell for him. Castiel couldn’t feel the same. It was all out of duty. Then his mind would drift to his time with Cas. How close they always stood, as though Dean’s subconscious knew of the attraction before Dean did, he distracted he always seemed to get by the too-blue eyes and the too-deep voice, the fierce stabs of protectiveness he felt whenever Castiel was in danger, regardless of whether he could defend himself or not, the red hot rage when he found out that reaper bitch had slept with him, morphing into a furious panic when he realized Castiel was dead. He would remember how his heart skipped a beat when Castiel first opened his eyes again, wide and vulnerable, and he’d mumbled Dean’s name, not quite awake yet. He would realize how often he actually had physical contact with Castiel, when normally they’d both have shied away from that sort of thing with anyone else, realize the burn on his shoulder, the permanent mark of Castiel’s rescue from hell, was a voluntary thing, a voluntary claim of a soul, HIS soul, realize the tether that connected them, that made the almost unrecognizable ache in his chest ease whenever Cas was near, that prompted Castiel to respond almost instantaneously to his call. Was it possible? Could it be? He wouldn’t want to hope, he’s been disappointed too often, but he wouldn’t be able to help the small spark in his chest as he thinks of how close Castiel always appears with him, how attentive he is when Dean talks, how protective he is of Dean, almost as protective as Dean is of him.
Holy. Fucking. Shit. Dean was in love with a mother-fucking angel of the lord, and by some divine-fucking-miracle, that beautiful, broken soldier loved him back.
Imagine him walking into the bunker reading room, still in a daze from his recent epiphany, a small, disbelieving smile on his face, and Sam being the only one there to see him, watching his brother wander around, almost in a trance, happier than he’s been in a very, very long time. When he finally gets up the nerve to break through Dean’s reverie and ask, he gets a small shock when Dean blurts 'I love him.’ 'Who?’ 'Cas. I love him, Sammy.’ It wouldn’t be so much the shock of Dean being in love with Cas, he figured that out a while ago. It’s the shock that Dean finally, FINALLY, figured it out, and is admitting it, and looks absolutely fucking blissed out about it. Then he watches Dean’s eyes widen as he realizes what he just admitted, out-loud.
Sam having to calm Dean down, joking that he always knew all along anyways, soothing him. Convincing him to call Castiel, to talk to him, to see him and confirm what they both, or at least Sam, already knew.
When he finally concedes, he closes his eyes and meekly prays, asking Castiel if he could spare a minute for him, that there’s something important they need to talk about. Castiel would be there almost before he finished, partly because Dean called him, partly because he’s never heard Dean’s voice so soft, so gentle before, almost vulnerable. Any words Dean had planned on saying would fly out of his head when Castiel appears, too close, as always, his white shirt ruffled, his blue tie crooked, his dirty, worn trenchcoat fluttering at his heels. All he can do is stare at the angel, HIS angel. Castiel would be confused, asking Dean if something was wrong, and as soon as Dean heard his voice, he’d snap out of it, the deep gravel of Cas’s voice working like a flare gun. He’d open his mouth, stop, close it, open it again, then give up on words, take a small step to close the distance Castiel had left between them and shoved his mouth against the very surprised angel’s, before backing up, and turning bright red as he blusters and stutters, embarrassed and horrified, until he sees the blue eyes he loves so much darken almost imperceptibly, and Castiel follows him back, pulling the flustered hunter back to him, fitting his hand perfectly to the mark on his shoulder, and fitting his lips perfectly against Dean’s, and kissing until they’re both breathless, and completely oblivious to Sam having vacated the room in one hell of a hurry several minutes previously.
Imagine the atmosphere in the bunker. All the pent up tension, stress, attraction would have exploded already, leaving little touches, like one’s not quite ready to believe the other is actually there, is actually theirs; leaving inconspicuous glances, full conversations in themselves and they leave or enter a room, telling each other to be safe, come back soon, or even welcome home, i missed you; leaving a hazy, dream-like atmosphere that takes several days to dissapate as the pair get accustomed to their new reality, convincing themselves its not a dream.
And once the love-struck, dream-like state wore off? They would be the best. Closer than any two beings ever were. They would become attuned to the other, entirely. Castiel would show up, or wake up, early, having coffee and bacon ready to give his hunter when he woke up at about 1023 and jumped in for an 11 minute shower. Dean would begin buying books, sketchbooks, cards, etc. and leaving them innoculously in their newly-shared room, so Castiel has something to do when he is sleeping at night. Dean waking up screaming from various nightmares, only to find himself in the warm, strong arms of his guardian angel, who rubs and soothes the images and fear away. Castiel freezing and falling into panic and anxiety attacks due to his life as a disobediant angel, and Dean knowing exactly the right thing to say, exactly what to do to pull him back from them. Fighting, they would work as a perfect team, covering each other’s back, complimenting their talents, using their own talents to amplify the other’s effectiveness, and always, always, protecting each other with everything they can.
Sam would be there, supporting as always, infinitely happy that his brother and his best friend finally found the happiness they both so desperately deserve. The pair including Sam in many of their activities, the group dynamic turning into something between closest of brothers and an adored child with his parents.